Strong
by MsLanna
Summary: Just a short vig inspired by a wonderful picture by Ellygator at deviantART. I think it can be canon, but I don't know much about the HP'verse. Actually, I didn't even know Lucius ended up in Azkaban at one point. This is set during his imprisonment.


Strong

She got up in the morning - like the morning before, like so many mornings gone by in an unnumbered row, stretching behind and into the future - alone. The sensation was new each morning and the pale rays of the winter sun but a weak substitute. She did not mind that they were pale or cold as she was used to the pale cold, almost insubstantial touch. But they left her lonely, the sheets beside her empty with no almost insubstantial touch on her face.

But she got up in the morning anyway, because. And on days like this it was all the more important. She would be strong. She had always been strong. And so she got up and faced the day. She would face the cold sun riding over the gardens of the manor, it's pale rays stirring up the mist unable to lift it. She would face the image her mirror showed, hard, lined, cold. She would face the empty room of her son, knowing deep inside that he was beyond her reach for now. Caught up in the machinations of - she would not think about him.

And in a small moment of weakness, she closed her eyes and shut out everything. And like a spark in the endless void there would be the glimmer of a future. She would have her son back. She would have her husband back. She would not let her life be broken apart by - no, she would not stoop and name him. She was strong; especially on days like these. When her eyes opened again, charms took care of the tangled mess of her hair.

She chose a dress of silver and white, colours of exquisite mourning and hope. She had been wearing the green of life for too long, it had lost its meaning. Renewal and growth had to wait until the mourning was done. And it was a dark place she was going to, every bit of light would be appreciated. She closed here yes again, not weakness this time, but a smile. He would appreciate, because, if she was strong, so was he.

Some of the lines in her face had softened when she opened her eyes again. Strength would get her through this. Strength would get them all through it. She had not planned for this to happen, but there was the tiny spark dancing at the bottom of her heart. She _would_ have her son back. He was right now protected. The symptoms were taken care of for a while and she would go for the cause. But not alone. Never alone.

"This is marriage, not some Unbreakable Vow," he said and her laughter still echoed in her ears. So innocent. Just this once. So innocent.

"Oh Lucius," her finger trailing down his cheek, "marriage is _the_ Unbreakable Vow."

And she had not broken it. And he had not broken it. And the gaze of his eyes was so cold on her that it burned.

Her hands trembled as she closed the silver clasp on the black cloak. A snake, still a snake because you did not deny who you were. Slytherins took the long and winding road; invisible until they struck. And she would not walk alone as some vows were more unbreakable than others. Because some people were stronger than others. Because waking up in the intangible loneliness of their bedroom was unacceptable.

She apparated just outside the wards of Azkaban, a guard already waiting to let her in. The corridors were blank, dark from within, a desperate place. Howls of madness and anger reached out of some cells, misery too great to contain, hope lost, life forfeit. Alone. It was not what she would find at the end of her path, desolate as it might be.

The door was unlocked and opened into a small cell. He stood with his back to her, the hair open, the shirt clean, tidy, neat. Because he was strong. And he was not alone. And he knew it.

"Lucius."

Not like the others, deranged, dirty, despaired. And the tiny smile tugging at his lip as he turned to her, a late sunrise of pale white light, almost intangible to the touch. They would have their son back. Because there were more important things than power. Her tone spoke of resting her head against his chest and her eyes more than likely betrayed the appreciation of the sight of him in shirtsleeves.

The predatory smile reached his eyes, pulling her close while he just took her hand into his. "Narcissa."

They would exchanges words without meaning to any body else. They would exchange small gestures of exquisite distance and nobody would be the wiser. It did not matter that the world was blind, when they could see. Malfoys were not to be read like books, which did not mean that there was nothing to read. The corner of her mouth quirked up as her eyes glanced over his shoulder to one of the drawings on the wall. Some vows were more unbreakable than others. Family mattered more than allegiance.

He squeezed her hand in silent acknowledgement.

Narcissa knew she would get up in the morning - like the morning before, like so many mornings gone by in an unnumbered row, stretching behind and into the future - alone. The sensation would be new each morning and hurt. But she would get up anyway. She was strong and the future was a firefly she did not have to catch alone.

* * *

Note: This little bit was inspired by Ellygator's picture "The Prisoner of Azkanban" on deviantART.

I am deeply grateful for her beautiful drawings.


End file.
